


Feast

by broi, Emphysematous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Catelyn is just sort of a bit of a bitch really, Dirty Talk, Drunk Jon, Drunk Sex, Fluff, M/M, POV Theon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Snark, Theon-centric, Top!Jon, basically if you wanted Jon and Theon to bicker all the way through a shag this is for you, cos we sorta can't help the plot, hmm a bit of plot, jon hates being a bastard, jory cassel is the real mvp, kraken - Freeform, mentions of DP, mentions of oral sex, tentacle issues, theon hates being theon, woe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broi/pseuds/broi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emphysematous/pseuds/Emphysematous
Summary: Feasts are, generally speaking, dull.Unless you use them as a means of getting drunk, then ditch out to go and find some action. Theon's all for helping himself to Jon's arse, but it doesn't really go down that way.





	Feast

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with the very best Jon an Ironborn could want. How I got this edited in a night is beyond me. I think I'm on speed. Emphysematous, you're ridiculous. I hope this makes you blush.

Theon has come to consider feasts to be this perfect mix of fun and frustration. 

He’s always allowed to drink more at feasts than at dinner. This is a good thing. Lord Eddard is more often than not occupied with some bannerman and his sycophantic family in tow, and Lady Catelyn can’t quite bring herself to chastise Theon in front of company for behaving, quite frankly, as any young lord is rightfully entitled. So there’s wine. A _lot_ of wine.

And, of course, he gets to sit next to Robb, which usually means the little Lordling of Winterfell will cop a feel or two under the table, whenever he can get away with it, because he’s had half a wineskin and he’s feeling particularly brazen.

Feasts are, on the other hand, more than a little frustrating when Jon Snow’s down the other end of the hall, staring black daggers of hatred out of his grey eyes and into Theon’s groin, so untouchable, un-kissable, un-takeable…and Robb’s in Theon’s ear going, _“look at him. I bet he’s as hard as fucking rock,”_ and Theon wants to bend both Stark boys over the top table and fuck them in turn, cock in each arse, one after the other, and then in their mouths, so they can taste each other….

Theon groans, running his hand through his hair. He left the feast when he couldn’t see Jon anymore, and saw altogether too much of Robb (that flushed face and swollen lips from the wine had become far too arousing to stay around), and now he’s walking the halls of Winterfell to his room, where he’ll either crack out a nice, lazy wank or, if there’s any luck or fortune to be found in these Gods of the Starks, Jon’s arse will be open and waiting for him to help himself….

A loud, almost shouted whisper crackles the dark silence.

“Greyjoy! Theon, you twat! Over here!”

Theon frowns into the darkness. A hand – one that Theon knows well, since it spends a fair amount of time wrapped about his cock – gestures wildly out of the shadows. The whole thing is far too pronounced to be in any way discreet, but there’s nobody near to care. A grin spreads across Theon’s face.

“Snow? Where the fuck have you been?”

Jon steps from the shadows, that same pink flush so becoming on Robb evident – if not worse – across Jon’s cheeks. A little guiltily, he raises a couple of bottles in his unsteady fist. “Winning us a nightcap.”

Theon regards him for a moment. He’s seen Jon after a few drinks countless times. Generally speaking, he becomes a little more loose of tongue, a little less pouty. This, however, is another level altogether.

“You’re fucked.” Theon shakes his head. “What was the game, and which halfwit did you play in order to actually win something?”

“I am not fucked!” A ridiculous hiccup stalls Jon momentarily, and Theon smirks at the floor. “I am…” A slight wobble, so slight, but of course, Theon catches it. Jon knows it, too. “Oh. Fucked. Shit. And it was dice and it was that man from…who came up with those people…?”

“Wyatt? Wy...mann? Wyll…something -- urgh, you know, the one with the funny eye?” This time, Theon directs his smirk directly at Jon. “Shame on you, Snow, taking advantage like that.”

“Taking advantage! Cunt was gonna fleece me! Gave me the old _“oh, I don’t know this game, go through the rules again, would you?”_ bullshit.” Jon takes a brazen swig from the bottle, as though he’d invented the fucking drink himself. “Anyway, you gonna come help me with this or am I drinking it all on my own?”

“Can’t let you do that. Wouldn’t want you having an accident. Besides, if Lord Eddard catches you like that…” Theon whistles, his face a perfect picture of mock-outrage. “Robb’s half-cut in the hall still and trying to hide it. I imagine Lord Eddard can take care of him well enough, and I can take _care_ of you. And that wine. Give it here.”

Jon snatches one last quick gulp, which dribbles down his chin. Course, Theon can think of nothing other than sucking that lovely red droplet right off, but he can’t possibly give Jon that sort of satisfaction. Not yet. 

Dutifully, Jon hands the bottle over.

“Good boy.” Theon takes a nice big gulp, immediately savouring the warmth spreading down his throat. All regrets of leaving his wineskin in the great hall are forgotten. “I’ve tasted better piss out a whore’s cunt to be honest, but it’ll do the job.” Another gulp, a nod down the hallway. “Your room, because a maid walked in on me having a wank the other day and she’s not left me alone since.” A third gulp. “On the plus side, I’ve got a _lot_ of freshly washed towels…”

Jon runs a finger along Theon’s bottom lip and Theon smirks into the touch. 

“Greyjoy, you keep the whore juice and I’ll start on…” Jon pulls out a much smaller bottle from a pocket, offers a glimpse, before squirrelling it away again. 

“Snow, don’t you wink like that at me. I _taught_ you that wink.”

“Aye. But it suits me better.”

 _Jon can drink all he wants if this is what he turns into,_ thinks Theon, more than just a little in awe. “You know…” he throws arm around Jon’s shoulders, “…I was dreadfully offended when Lady Catelyn told me off for being a bad influence on Robb. Turned out it’s not Robb she has to worry about.” A pause, as Jon stiffens under Theon’s arm. “Erm, shit. Not that she _would_ worry about – about—” Theon fumbles for the wineskin, taking a huge gulp even by his own standards, as though drowning the words in wine will stop them being heard aloud. “The whore’s piss is growing on me.”

“To bed!” cries Jon, admirably ignoring Theon’s accidental slight. Which is fantastic, because Theon does not enjoy having to fix it when Jon’s chosen to take some stupid joke the wrong way. Honestly, of all the whores who’ve seen to Theon’s cock, none have ever had a worse stick up their arse than Jon Snow on a bad day. “Huh?” Jon burbles, bringing Theon back into the present. “Oh. right. That way. Good thing you’re here to _take care_ of me, huh?”

Theon laps up Jon’s leer like he’s a whore earning coin for it. “You’re a dolt. A halfwit yourself.” He can’t help but grin at him. “Oh, Lord Snow. I’ll be taking very good care of you, don’t you worry. I’ll take perfect care of you right down my throat if you keep looking at me like that.”

Theon watches Jon weave across the hallway, then pretends to sigh in impatience when he takes Jon back under his arm. Theon _loves_ the sensation of how heavily Jon leans on him. Jon _never_ does that. “Nuh uh. You’ll be taking care of me by sitting on my cock. Kraken prince. “

 _Oh,_ how Theon’s cock _throbs_ at that.

“Fuck me, Jon. Try to be a bit louder, as I’m not sure your lord Father heard that….”

Jon frowns, then takes a deep breath as though he’s about to release a fucking _yell_ through the entirety of Winterfell and Winter Town…

 _“Jon -- fucking --!!”_ Theon lunges, grapples him about the mouth, silences him.

Through Theon’s long fingers, Jon murmurs, “Alright, alright…you will though.”

“Drowned fucking God…” Theon shakes his head. “I don’t doubt it. It’s lucky for you that I’m in the mood to have my arse reamed raw tonight. If you can get it up, that is…”

Jon takes Theon’s wrist in his hand, suddenly and surprisingly cognate. He pushes Theon’s palm towards the bulge in his breeches. _Oh._ “Satisfied, Greyjoy?”

Theon doesn’t even care how fucking smug he looks. “Oh, I will be.” He steers Jon into his room, shuts and bolts the door. “Reckon that maid will be able to follow my scent here?” He wrinkles his nose. _She’s a fucking dog._ “Wouldn’t be fucking surprised…”

Jon collapses on his back onto his bed. Theon thinks he hasn’t seen a sight so fucking lovely than Jon stretched out on his back, his hair all thrown and dishevelled, spluttering drunken filth like a lowborn boy whore. _Gods._ Theon’s cock is _hard._

“Eh, she can try to join in if she thinks she’s up to it.” Jon shifts about a bit, digs out his little bottle and sits up to put the lip to his mouth. “Fuuuuck…. Shit me, that’s strong.”

“She cannot fucking join in. Have you seen her? She looks like King Robert, but with more beard.” Theon shudders, then raises an eyebrow. “I feel as though, as your elder, I should stop you from drinking that.”

Jon rubs his lips haphazardly. “Be my guest. I think my face is numb.”

“Again, good boy,” acknowledges Theon, as Jon hands it over. He takes a long sniff and wonders if it is possible to die from burned nostrils. “ _Seven hells._ ” But of course, Theon Greyjoy can never lose face, so he shrugs, takes a sip. “That’s more like it. Where in the seven kingdoms did you get this? It is not a drink for little bastard boys…”

“Fell off the back of a wagon.”

“Course it did. If _“fell off the back of a wagon”_ is some new code for “Jory Cassel”.”

“Well, it was his wagon….”

Theon laughs, takes another sip. “On second thoughts, Snow, I might give this back to you. It may put a few hairs on your chest.”

He might try to hide it, but it’s obvious how much Jon needs to force down the mouthful he takes. “How can people like this stuff?”

“You grow into it. I like it plenty well enough.” Theon smirks. “Why are your clothes still on?” He gestures with a flippant hand, the unspoken order to just _get on with it._. For good measure – and to emphasise how little the whole affair matters to him – Theon helps himself to a good few mouthfuls of the finest Whores Piss. He’s genuinely feeling quite tipsy now, which he is enjoying because it always makes for a better shag.

“I could say the same to you,” murmurs Jon, whose drunken attempts at pulling his shirt off, kicking his boots off, and the quite frankly laughable attempts to stand up to kick his breeches off are possibly turning Theon on even more. “Come here, squidthing…” He grabs at Theon’s waistband but falls back onto the bed. _Knob._

“Easy! That is exceptional Whore’s Piss you are wasting there…” Theon sets down the wine on Jon’s bedstead. Slowly, Theon begins to unlace his breeches. He’s taking his time deliberately, watching Jon’s glazed gaze rake over his body. He leaves his lacings alone for a moment and pulls his shirt over his head. “You, Lord Snow, are a mess.”

Jon’s prick is in his hand, and he is unashamedly handling himself, slowly and brazenly, as if challenging Theon to tell him to stop. “Yes. I am. And you’re going to come and fuck me.”

“You’re not wrong. What’ll it be? The finest cock you’ll ever have up that pretty arse of yours? Or do you want to lie back and receive the best arse in the fucking Seven Kingdoms?”

“Yes. That one. Arse. Yours.”

“Sentences proving a bother?” Theon’s smirk is unstoppable, even if he wanted to hide it. He unlaces his breeches as slowly as he can, given how much he wants to free his cock and fucking _take_ Jon with it.

Jon’s hand hasn’t left his prick. If anything, the little shit has fucking _sped up._

“Shut the fuck up, Greyjoy, and sit on me already.”

“You find your bastard’s balls at the bottom of that bottle of yours?” As Theon slides his breeches down, his cock springs free and Jon fucking _gasps._

“Just – just ran out of fucks to give tonight. Fucking Catelyn and her fucking bastard’s table halfway down the fucking hall with the grooms and the pot boys. And the Gods forbid I ever talk to or look at one of her precious trueborn children when company is present! _Bitch_.” He runs his palm over the head of Theon’s cock and Theon nearly loses it. “I have just as much Stark blood as Bran, and he sits on a fucking velvet cushion on the dais and I’m grudgingly allowed in the hall at all because Ned insists on it. So FUCK them. And you, you should be fucking me. Get on with it.” Jon pulls Theon toward him by the wrist, and Theon, for the first fucking time in his life, does not know what in seven hells to do.

So he sits, open-mouthed, listening to Jon go off on one. If he’s honest – really honest with himself – he feels a bit bad for making a bastard joke as usually Jon can cope with it, behind closed doors as part of how they wind each other up. And _oh,_ how they wind each other up. But no matter how much Theon’s worried he’s hit a nerve, he - being Theon - can’t make much right with an apology or anything emotional, so instead he goes for...more teasing. Which will fix everything.

“...fuck, Jon. I didn’t ask for your fucking life story…” But he says it with a grin, smiles into Jon’s mouth, kisses him. “Let’s see some of that anger come out through your cock, shall we? Hard and fast. Gonna ride you like a two-copper whore.”

In agreement, Jon pulls him harder towards his cock. Theon can feel him pushing at his hole. He wishes his breathy, slightly nervy laugh had come out as something a little more manly and authoritative. “Whoa, whoa, whoa…nothing’s going up there ‘til you see to it first. It’d be like trying a pierce a fucking knot in a Weirwood tree.”

Jon pouts exasperatedly. “ _Robb_ doesn’t need all this coddling.” Theon’s quite proud of himself that he doesn’t slap Jon across the face. Instead, he watches Jon gesture vaguely at the chest at the foot of the bed. “There’s some in there, go find it.”

“You forget, Snow, that Robb has both of us in his arse on a weekly basis. He’s as loose as they come. This is a _treat_ for you, boy.” Theon glances over at the chest, before deciding that he’d like Jon to dictate what unfolds with a little less authority. “Can’t be arsed with that. Here you go.” He clambers up Jon’s body and sits, entirely inelegantly, on his face. For good measure, Theon grabs the wine from the side of the bed, has a good old swig. Jon Snow had better know Theon is here for his own pleasure, and his own pleasure only.

Theon thinks he hears Jon mumble something grumpy and bastardly into Theon’s arse, but he grabs Theon by the thighs and gets his face and tongue right in there. _Good boy._

“Yes. _Yes_. Hold my arse open, Jon. Make it good.” Theon’s properly writhing on Jon’s tongue, but it feels so good that he doesn’t much care. “You’re better with your tongue than Robb. At least when you’re pissed, anyway. _Fuck_ \- no holding you back, is there?”

There’s some sort of enthusiastic muffled agreement, which Theon takes to mean that Jon just wants more.

“Come on, Jon. Get your tongue right in there.” He pauses. Theon’s not very good at cheering Jon on, but for some reason he’s feeling a bit affectionate towards Jon tonight. Perhaps because Jon’s so pissed and vulnerable. “Yeah...you’re doing so _well_. Feels fucking amazing. Gonna get me ready for your cock? Put a finger in, Jon. Go on….”

Jon pulls away long enough to lick sloppily at his fingers. He pushes one in with not quite as much gentleness as Theon would have liked, but his tongue is right there, lapping at him again so…well, the whole thing is pretty lovely, and also a bit alarming. At least Robb’s so paranoid about hurting them that he’s overly gentle. Jon, with this look in his eye? Gentle isn’t even a word in his fucking vocabulary.

A strangled cry, half in arousal and half in shock, escapes Theon’s mouth. “Oh _fuck.._.you know, if Lady Catelyn ever grows the balls to actually send you away, fuck the Wall off and go be a whore. Nobody’s ever taken my arse this well before and I’ve sat on my fair share of willing faces…” Of course, Theon’s sort of hoping the double slight of bringing up Catelyn alongside suggesting Jon whores himself out, as though Theon doesn’t even care about that, will bring that rage back that Theon fucking loves.

“I am _not_ a whore, Theon.” Jon’s voice is dark as he wiggles in a second finger and curves them exactly where he knows Theon wants it. _Ugh,_ why is Theon’s body such a fucking wanton slut? “YOU, on the other hand, are writhing and gasping like I’ve got the only silver coin left in the seven kingdoms.”

Theon gasps, moans, keens like a green boy. “And _what_ a fucking silver coin it is….. Yes, just there… oh fuck, I’m going to need your cock soon else I’ll spend on the end of your tongue. Wouldn’t want to dirty your pretty hair, maiden.”

Jon, the little shit, jabs Theon in the balls. “Stop it with the maiden crap, Greyjoy.”

“Ooh. Is it your moon’s blood? _Ouch!_ ”

“It’ll be yours if you carry on like that. Get off my face and onto my cock.” It’s quite pathetic, the way Jon shoves weakly at Theon’s thighs. _I could fucking drown him in my arse,_ Theon thinks, and the idea goes to his cock with surprising ferocity. _The Drowned fucking God. What is dead may never die._

Theon laughs, but moves obligingly into Jon’s lap. “Go slow though. I’m not Lord Robb.” He fumbles about for Jon’s little bottle, cast aside in the furs, and upon finding it, has a swig. Of course, he never admits to being nervous when Jon does him up the arse, as he always knows it’ll feel good, but it doesn’t happen often and the first minute or so is pretty eyewatering. He’d never admit that to Jon, though, as that inch or so difference in their cock size is something Theon likes to embrace with enthusiasm.

“No, Robb would have already been wrapped around me by now.” He spits in his hand like a seasoned whore and wets his cock. “Come on, you _maiden_ , get on there.” He thrusts up at Theon’s arse, making him gasp.

“You -- you are a little _shit_ \--” He gulps another swig of Jon’s bottle, anything to help disguise his nerves. “I’m gonna suck your cock after a mouthful of this stuff and set you aflame—” He gasps completely involuntarily as Jon’s cock enters his arse; as much as he wants it, he knows he must be as tight as that fucking Tyrell girl Lord Renly’s too gay to fuck.

“Ah! Finally!” Jon tugs at Theon’s hips, trying to get in him faster. He is not being gentle, not gentle at all, and Theon both loves it and hates it all at once. 

Through gritted teeth, Theon mutters, “Delightful -- delightful bed manner, you have, Snow.”

“I learned it all from you, kraken.”

“ _Cunt_ ”. Theon wriggles, trying to adjust to Jon’s size. “I’ll have you know I am perfectly, utterly selfless when it comes to fucking. I’ve never done you up the arse unless I’d loosened you nicely first. Of course, you turn into a slobbering, crying girl the minute I get some oiled fingers anywhere near you. Gaping like a whore who’d fuck for free.”

“Oh, stop whining and take it like the slut you are!” Jon unleashes one big, savage thrust up and Theon fucking _groans_. “You know where the oil is, and I know for sure you can get four fingers inside yourself when you want to. _Cunt._ ” 

Theon moans like a complete whore, despite himself. “Four fingers and then some, I’d wager. Remember - ah! - Remember that time Robb sucked my arse as you spread me? Fuelled me handling myself for weeks, that did...”

“Fuck, I remember… Remember when I fucked you while you fucked him? Gods, the look on his face...”

“I remember that every day, sweetling. I’m sure that’s to blame for the wank that made the maid fall in love with me.” Theon rolls his hips, properly into it now. “ _Fuck_. Remember when Robb took both our cocks, in the armoury that time last….spring? He was babbling on and on about wanting another one in his mouth, started stammering about kraken and tentacles, that I had to pull out and shut him up with my prick? _Fuck, Jon_ …”

“The dirty little shit loved it too, sucking on your cock when it had just come out of his arse…”

“ _Yes… yes._ Made it better for him. I told him that as well. Asked him how he tasted. _Fuck_ , Jon, slow down. I’m going to spill. I don’t want to -- not yet.”

And to Theon’s delight, Jon abruptly stops, sits up, and pushes Theon backwards. “ _Turn over._ ”

Theon can only imagine what he looks like. Pupils blown wide, mouth thrown open like a begging slut. “Drowned fucking God.” Of course, Theon does as he’s told. On the way to rolling onto his stomach, arse raised like a woman, he allows himself a nice big swig from Jon’s bottle. When he’s finished, the spirits burning happily in his throat, loosening his body and his mind for Jon, _just_ for Jon, he hands it backwards over his shoulder. 

Jon takes it from him and Theon listens to him have a huge gulp. There’s a grimace and a shudder, Theon’s sure, before he hears Jon recapping the bottle. And then, all at once, there’s a hand on the back of Theon’s neck, pushing his head down into the furs, before another pulls his hips up and towards Jon with no ceremony whatsoever. 

“Ready to be fucked properly?”

Jon doesn’t wait for a response, and Theon loves him for it. Instead, he pushes himself in and goes to town on Theon’s arse, just as Theon wanted him to from the moment he appeared, looming from his lurking in the shadows, waving those fucking piss wines at him, his lips all full and red, his cheeks so fucking delicious and flushed. 

“Agh!” cries Theon, who lifts his arse and hips higher, curving his back. Oh yes, he definitely knows how much of a slut he is being, and to be honest, it just spurs him on more. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ … Jon, I swear it by the old gods and the new, your -- ah! -- your cock…...it’s fucking huge, what sorcery have you been doing?”

“Watching you,” snarls Jon, and Theon knows he’s truly lost. “Up at the fucking top table. _Lording_ it over all of us. You _cunt_.” Jon’s thrusts have changed from needy and desperate to vicious, all growls and nails digging in, and Theon _loves it_ , “…with your fucking face and your arse and your cock all there where I can see you and can’t have you…”

Theon bites into Jon’s furs on his bed to stop himself from sobbing in need. “You -- you can fucking have me, Jon. Have _all_ of me. Fucking _take_ my arse—” 

“I don’t need your _permission_ , you bitch.” Jon grips a hand on Theon’s shoulder, pulling his whole body harder onto his cock. “Shut the fuck up and be a hole for me to fuck.”

Theon’s completely incoherent and he does not fucking care; the whole thing is so good that he’d go to pieces a thousand times over to draw it out longer. He makes a feeble attempt at reaching backwards to spread his arse for Jon. It’s so fucking incredible and just what Theon needs…and what he needs is to be ruined. “I’m -- it’s -- open my -- I want—” 

“ _Shut up!_ ” Jon wraps a rough hand over Theon’s mouth, pulling his head back, so his back arches. “Fuck, fuck fuck, you _fucking_ lordling _cunt._ ” 

It’s the hand over his mouth that does it. Theon sobs into Jon’s palm as he comes all over Jon’s furs, an obscene amount, harder than he’s done in weeks. Somehow the muffled _fuck, yes, Jon, fuck_ doesn’t even sound like him.

And with that, Jon shoves Theon’s face into the furs, partly to shut him up, partly to get a better grip for his last moment of frantic thrusting. With a snarled “ _Shit!_ ” Jon is coming, coming _hard_ into Theon’s arse, not eloquent in the least, but Theon fucking _loves_ him for it. Riding out the orgasm, Jon falls forward over Theon’s body and they both flop into a sticky, sweaty mess on the bed.

“Oh -- my -- _fuck_ \-- by the Gods, I -- Jon. Don’t pull out yet. I don’t think my arse can take it. Just -- just wait. _Fuck._ ” 

Jon grunts. “Fuck me, Theon, what got into you tonight?”

“ _Me? ME?_ You called me a ‘fucking Lordling cunt’!”

Jon makes a noise that MIGHT have been “well, you are” but is just muffled enough to get away with, particularly as Theon has chosen to ignore it. “You called me a maiden. And a bastard. And.. probably some other stuff. I stopped listening once I got in you.”

Theon is quite rightly affronted. “You just want to fuck me and not _listen_ to me?” A pause. “ _Fuck_. I can’t believe I just said that. Your cock up my arse is...is….altering my fucking gender.”

Jon groans. It’s clearly a massive effort for him to shift enough to pull out and roll over. “You’ve always been a slutty little tart, kraken. It just takes some spirits and a hard cock to coax it out to the surface.”

“And you, Snow… you don’t let that rage out very often - too busy sulking about and pouting - but when you do, it’s bloody fantastic. Oh, _gods_. I can feel you dripping out my arse. What _would_ my father say?”

“Probably something similar to mine, but with more drowning and salt and less disappointment and dishonour. Where’s that whore’s piss?”

“Yeah. My father would probably shake your hand and congratulate you on paying the fucking iron price.” Theon reaches over to the wine with a groan. “This whore’s piss is mine, thanks. I’ve earned it tonight.”

“Fine. I’ll fini-- oh. It’s empty. Fuck.” Jon tosses his little bottle aside and flops back onto his bed. Not for the first time, that evening or that day or that week or that month, Theon thinks he has never seen anything so pretty. 

So to stop himself from saying anything else, he’s outraged. “Empty! What the fuck! I wanted to make good on that promise to suck your cock after a mouthful of that stuff. Luwin will have a heart attack. _‘Maester Luwin, I appear to have a significant issue with my...my parts. It feels as though they are aflame…..’_ ”

“Your arse is aflame.” Jon – pretty, lovely Jon – is drunk and sleepy and fucked out and is clearly running out of wit. 

Theon chucks Jon the wineskin, which lands with a thud on his chest. He’s not faring much better. “Your fucking mother’s aflame.” 

“Your mother’s _arse_ is aflame.” 

And Theon does not protest when Jon pulls him closer to snuggle. In fact, he nestles deeper into Jon’s neck. “ _Drowned._ I think you’ll find my lady mother’s ar -- arse is drowned.” He considers this for a moment, and wonders what the fuck he’s become, discussing his mother’s arse. “Oh, I don’t fucking know.”

“Your arse is… saturated.”

“Your cock looks like the shittest fucking kraken I’ve ever seen.”

“You’d know.”

“Yeah. I would.” Theon kisses wetly at Jon’s neck underneath his jaw. He’d never tell him, but this is one of Theon’s very favourite parts of Jon. “Don’t tell Robb what a slut I was. He’ll not let me forget it. I want to have a go on him this week and he shan’t let me if he knows about all the moaning and crying.”

Jon chuckles, kissing the top of Theon’s head. It’s a strangely intimate gesture than makes Theon shiver, and is wholly more comforting that he’d ever like to admit. “I won’t tell him.” Jon pulls the furs over them both and Theon feels he could stay there forever. “I’ll just show him by doing it again with him watching.”

No matter how incredulous Theon is, he’s also too tired, too fucked, too drunk to even open his eyes. “You’re a little bastard.”

“You’re a little lordling cunt.”

“Less of the little.” Theon drags a thigh over Jon’s.

“Much less.” 

Theon frowns. So fucking ambiguous! And he’d challenge the bastard about that, he tells himself, in the morning. Because now, Jon gently starts to snore.

And Theon’s frown twists into a grin.


End file.
